


5 times Crowley talked to God

by Vee_is_typing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biblical References, Cuddling, Drinking, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kinda, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, crowley and zira can be friends or dating it's up to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee_is_typing/pseuds/Vee_is_typing
Summary: and 1 time she answered





	5 times Crowley talked to God

**Author's Note:**

> so I'm finally hopping on the good omens train and I don't intend to hop off.
> 
> Shoutout to my mate @spicyjarvis for cheering me on while I wrote this, she has a good omens fic too (with quite a bit of Crowley whump) which you should totally check out!
> 
> Hope you enjoy :D

1\. In which he asks the question

  
The universe has existed for 6 days and the Garden has existed for 1 day and he isn’t going to lie, he’s already really confused.

 

Sure, it’s great and all that God in all her might has decided “Hey! Let’s make a universe! That’ll be fun!” but what he wants to know is why. People don’t just make universes for the hell of it.

 

Is he allowed to think that? It sounds slightly blasphemous.

 

Whatever, point is, he doesn’t get it.

 

He’s been, well, not exactly _lurking_ but he’s been going around the Garden and listening to the other angels, trying to see if anyone else finds God's motives a bit odd but so far he’s having no luck. If he is being honest, they’re all Holier Than Thou pricks, who twist their perfect little lips into disapproving frowns the second he tries to make slight conversation. Either that or twittering idiots, hunched around in groups whispering about Gods latest creation. They’re called humans apparently, and there’s two of them, wandering around in their own paradise.

 

God can do whatever she wants, as long as he gets some damn answers.

 

It’s in this plague of thought that he finds himself sitting on the wall of the Garden, one night, looking out into the dark wastelands beyond. His bare feet hang over the edge, while his gloriously white wings do their best to cut out the breeze. He looks up into the night sky, at the stars that were created (1? 2 weeks ago?) by God and says  
“Why am I here.”

 

Silence.

 

He tries again.

 

“Lord, why am I here?”

 

Nothing, just the slight chatter of angels from below.

 

“Why have I been created? What is my purpose?”

 

He can see the slight glow of a flaming blade from the corner of his eye, by the eastern gate. The angel there (he doesn’t know their name) has a purpose. The angels tending the plants below have a purpose. Everyone seems to have a purpose but him, left wandering around in paradise.

 

“Please. Tell me. Am I meant to be here?”

 

His eyes feel slightly watery.

 

“Am I a mistake? What is my role?”

 

The stars are mocking him.

 

“Why are you ignoring me? Have I done something wrong?”

 

No answer.

 

“WHAT ARE ANY OF US DOING HERE? WHAT IS YOUR PLAN?”

 

Nothing.

 

He turns away, in just the slightest disgust. Fine then, if God can’t answer him, he’ll find someone who can.

 

 

2\. In which he falls

 

He’s messed up.

 

Looking around, they’re everywhere, tumbling off from the heavens into the dark below. Eden feels so far away now, so far gone. What happened? What has he done?

 

He feels sick, watching as they are pushed forwards towards the edge by an unknown force, the void calling for them. Some are screaming, clawing, trying to return to their once brothers who now turn away in disgust. Some, he notices with a sick feeling, are jumping, eagerly leaping down towards damnation.

 

There’s a push on his back

 

“No- please-” he starts to say but it’s too late and now he too is falling, spinning in circles as the blue sky draws away. He tries to pull out his wings, but they are turning a sickly black, like charcoal, and they barely work. He gags, and desperately looks for something to grab onto but it’s too late he’s falling too fast and the earth swallows him up in its jaws.

 

 

 

Fire.

 

 

 

It’s everywhere and it’s eating him whole, burning through his veins. Everywhere is screams and wails as the fallen next to him have their skin boil and eyes darken and teeth grow and-

 

“WHERE ARE YOU?” He snarls up at the sky, barely visible from the flames “IS THIS YOUR PLAN? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED G-“ He chokes on the word, his damned mouth not able to take the holiness that he no longer possesses. That he no longer has the right to.

 

The flames lick at his eyes and he sobs as it burns him.

 

 

3\. In which he falls again

 

It’s been a while now; he can’t say how long. Time had stopped for him, at least for a bit, as he existed only in the flames. He doesn’t really want to think about it. How is body writhed and convulsed, how his once angelic features corrupted,

 

How his form slowly changed into a serpent.

 

When the beaten rebellion had eventually emerged from the fire, grotesque and malformed, he realised that they had changed not just physically, but mentally. They were darker. Crueller. They had dark squinting eyes that only watched while the more unfortunate staggered around, clutching open wounds and ragged wings. While those strong enough quickly set up an infrastructure, Crawley (some of the demons had given him the nickname and it stuck) spent his time slithering around, exploring this new underworld he seemed to belong to now.

 

He missed the sun.

 

He slowly (so slowly) starts working on regaining his lost form, working to regain a semblance of what he lost, until, one day he manages to slither just right, and he springs forth into a human-like shape.

 

But oh- what a ghastly shape!

 

Hair, now a bright, artificial red, a small snake tattoo under his ear. His tongue, more often forked than not, sat behind now slightly too white and too sharp teeth. His eyes were of a serpents- slitted and yellow (he couldn’t change them, he’d tried).

 

And his wings- oh his once beautiful wings!

 

Gone was the heavenly white glow, replaced by dark feathers, black as the night.

 

His greatest gift from the almighty corrupted and tainted, just like the rest of him.

 

He would laugh at the irony if he didn’t hurt so.

 

But now, it seems, he’s getting another chance. The demons have finally started to stand on their own two feet again, and it has been decided that if they are damned, then by god they’ll act like it.

 

Beelzebub beckons him one day, Lucifer already off doing his own thing (typical lucifer, never one for sticking around doing the dirty work). Beelzebub beckons him and gives him the news that he is returning to the world. To the sun.

 

“make zzzzome trouble” She buzzes, the flies crawling over her face. Crawley hightails it.

 

The garden is so blindingly luscious, the plants and the odours nearly knocking Crawley over. How had he managed to let this go? He just wants to snooze in the sun for a while, let it warm his cold scales. But no- there was work to be done.

 

For all of its infamy, for all the praise Crawley received from it down below, humanities first sin was kind of an on-the-spot thing. Crawley saw the apple, saw the human and held up his promise of making some trouble.

 

He does feel bad for them, as he watches from one of the gardens walls as they slowly walk out into the wasteland. Cast out forever over one simple mistake (now where has he heard that before?).

 

“Well that went down like a lead balloon” He murmured.

 

 

“Sorry, what was that?” The angel that was standing next to him said, laughing nervously.

 

“I said ‘well that went down like a lead balloon’”

 

“Yes, yes, it did rather” He seemed to be avoiding Crawleys gaze. Tch, angels were so prim and proper these days.

 

Well, might as well tug a couple of feathers before the day is out.

 

“Bit of an overreaction if you ask me. First offence and everything.” The angel glanced at him and Crawley pressed on.

 

“I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway”

 

“Well, it must be bad…”

 

“Crawley.” The demon filled in, only regretting it for a slight second. Demons would one day be known for many things, but their ability to make up nicknames would not be one of them.

 

“Crawley” The angel looked over again “Otherwise... you wouldn’t have tempted them into it”

 

Huh.

 

“Oh, they just said ‘get up there and make some trouble’” Crawley said nonchalantly.

 

“Well. Obviously. You’re a demon.” The angel said eyeing him up. “It’s what you do”

 

He seemed to be beginning to get a little flustered. Interesting.

 

“Not very subtle of the almighty though, fruit tree in the middle of the garden with a ‘Don’t touch’ sign on it. I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” The angel was staring rather determinedly up at the sky, in an attempt to ignore Crawley. “Makes you wonder what Gods really planning” Crawley pushed on.

 

“Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the great plan.” The angel said rather condescendingly. “It’s not for us to understand. It’s ineffable.” He glanced over at Crawley as if to say how will you answer that?

 

“The great plans _ineffable_?” Crawley scoffed.

 

“Exactly.” He said “It is beyond understanding…”

 

He probably said a bit more, but Crawley was now a bit preoccupied as he had recognised who the angel was. This was the angel of the east gate, who’s flaming sword he had seen shining on the night he first started to ask questions. A flaming sword, that was rather noticeably gone from the angel’s belt.

 

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” He asked, interrupting the angel’s explanation. The angel blushed.

 

“Uh...”

 

“You did, it was flaming like anything, what happened to it?”

 

“I-erm...”

 

“Lost it already have you?” Typical angels. Nothing in their heads but clouds and celestial harmonies.

 

“…gave it away”

 

“You what?”

 

“ _I gave it away!_ ”

 

Well that was unexpected. An angel, going against what’s said? Giving away god’s gift to them? Well damn, if they hadn’t just earned Crawleys respect.

 

“…Well it’s cold out there, and there’s vicious animals…” The angel was saying but Crawley wasn’t really taking it in, too busy staring at him with an odd sort of reverence. Anyone who thought different, Crawley supposed, was already fallen and corrupted. But now another, questioning God’s decisions? Woah.

 

“I do hope I did the right thing” the angel fretted.

 

“Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” The silent that’s what I thought too wasn’t said.

 

“Oh- oh thank- oh thank you” The angel said flashing him a smile. “It’s been bothering me.”

 

“Mm I’ve been worrying too” Crawley said as they watched the humans commit the first act of violence. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble doing the right thing.”

 

The angel seemed to not be listening, a small frown gracing his lips as he watched the first man hack away at the lion.

 

“It’d be funny if we both got it wrong eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one” Crawley chuckled, trying to pull the angel’s eyes away from the animals dead body.

 

The angel laughed, looking back at Crawley, before suddenly coming to “No! It wouldn’t be funny at all.”

 

“Well…” Crawley mumbled, but then the first rain started to fall, and the angel offered his wing as shelter to the demon and suddenly Crawley understood why his heart had been doing flip flops for the past few minutes.

 

Oh god… he thought. How is this part of your great plan? Is this what you wanted?

 

But he received no response.

 

 

4\. In which he drinks just a little too much

 

He is so drunk right now.

 

Sitting all alone in his cold apartment in central London, wine glass in hand, he’s babbling at nothing. His paperwork lies long forgotten on the desk on the other side of the room.

“I seeee a little sii- little silo- little- LITTLE SHADOW OF A MAN” He drunkenly sings, before throwing the half full glass against the wall, where it shattered instantly. “SCARAMOUCH, SCARAMOUCH WILL YOU DO THE FANDANGO” Getting up, he staggers into his plant room (where the plants in question instantly started to shiver) “THUNDER BOLTS ‘N LIGHTNIN’ VERY VERY FRIGHTENING MEE” He points at the ceiling.

 

Silence.

 

“God.” He says, sounding very annoyed. “That’s your bit. You’re meant to go ‘GALILEO’. Like that. GALILEO.”

 

Unsurprisingly to everyone except for the demon, God did not chime in with a Galileo

 

“Bah, you’re no fun. NO FUN THE LOT OF YOU” He said, turning around to yell at his poor plants. He stumbled into yet another room and collapses onto his bed. “You never were though, were You? Fun I mean.“ He clears his throat. “Neverrr any funnn. All ‘don’t ask questions, don’t ea’ apples, don’t do this don’t do that.’ Bastard.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“I ne’er meant t’fall” he mumbles quietly to himself. “You know tha’ don’t you? I ne’er meant to betray you. I was jush at the wrong place, wrong time.”

 

Another pause.

 

“ I understand if you don’t wanna reshpond. I wouldn’t either.”

 

He feels sad now, so he wants to call Aziraphale (the angel he met all those millennia ago on the walls of Eden) but he’s too drunk, the angel would just be disappointed in him, and anyway, he doubts he could make it all the way down the street to the phone box.

 

So instead, he just falls asleep.

 

 

5\. In which he begins to question what he’s doing

 

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

 

Crowley (he’s been going as that for a while now- he’d rather have his own name then some shitty nickname the demons thought up in two seconds, _oh yes, crawley ‘cause he’s a snake haha very funny hast_ _ur_ ) is currently driving well over the speed limit in his beloved Bentley while Queen is playing loudly in the background. He’s all too aware of the basket lying on the backseat.

 

“Now?” He yells, looking upwards to the sky “Now? Why Now? Why?”

 

The, the, the _thing_ in the backseat starts crying. Well, not just any thing. The fucking Antichrist.

 

Oh god what has Crowley gotten himself into.

 

“Why now? What’s so special about 2008? Why has the world got to end now?”

 

He swears as he narrowly misses a lorry driving down the road, and then he’s getting instructions on how to deliver the Antichrist from Freddie Mercury.

 

And then he’s walking into the hospital and handing over the Antichrist to the waiting nuns and god he’s gone and done it now hasn’t he.

 

And then he’s walking out into the cool night, getting into his Bentley before driving off into the middle of nowhere.

 

He gets out the car, and sits on the wet grass, breathing in the cold air. It’s kind of crispy.

 

He takes off his sunglasses (another thing he’s picked up from his time on earth. Good cover for the eyes) and pinches the brim of his nose.

 

“So this is the end huh? You’ve let the Antichrist be born and in just 11 short years it’s all going to end. This is what you wanted? This is what you planned?” He looks up. “I’m not going to pretend to understand why you do what you do anymore but why.”

 

The now expected silence doesn’t surprise him anymore. He’s used to God ignoring him.

 

He sniffs and puts his glasses back on. He needs to talk to Aziraphale.

 

 

+1 In which she answers.

 

It’s late, and he’s curled up on the sofa, the best one in the bookshop, right by the warm, burning, fireplace. The apocalypse-that-wasn’t was a couple of months ago now and things seemed to be finally starting to calm down. He and Aziraphale are being left alone, Adam is slowly recovering from his short stint as the Antichrist and his plants are growing better than ever. Part of him knows that this respite won’t last forever, that once heaven and hell have recovered they’re going to come knocking on his door, but for now? Things are good. He shifts and a sleeping Aziraphale stirs slightly from where he’s nestled on his chest. It’s a little uncomfortable but Crowley doesn’t mind. He’s completely and utterly content. He yawns.

 

“Do you think we did the wrong thing?” He says drowsily, already starting to close his eyes.

 

He feels a warm hand rest upon his cheek and he freezes. “No, I don’t think you did” a comforting voice says.

 

_No, it can’t be-_

 

He gingerly opens his eyes, to see the empty bookshop.He flushes, feeling the fool- he clearly hasn’t gotten enough sleep.

 

“I’m here, Crowley” She says and he frantically scans the room.

 

“Where are you?”

 

“I am with you.”

 

“But I can’t see you?”

 

“I think you just haven’t been looking close enough.” She says, but she doesn’t sound judgemental- she’s understanding.

 

“I-I’m so sorry” Crowley says, starting to break down into sobs a little.

 

“Shhh, shhh it’s okay. You’ve done so, so well; I’m so proud of you. You have filled your role perfectly.”

 

“But- what was my role?” He said, sniffing “All those times I asked, you never answered.”

 

“I know, I know.”

 

“So why didn’t you answer?” His voice is starting to rise “What did I do for you to ignore me? What did I _do?"_ Aziraphale shifts again and he guiltily drops back into a hush. “Is it because I’m fallen? I didn’t mean-“

 

“I know you didn’t” She says, cupping his face again. It’s a funny feeling, Crowley cannot see her but can sense her presence, her warmth. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, but it was all part of the plan, the-“

 

“The ineffable plan?”

 

“Yes” and he can hear the grin in her voice, “the ineffable plan.” She sighs and silence falls between them.

 

“I have so much I want to know” Crowley says hesitantly. “Was I meant to fall? Was I meant to rebel against you? Did I do the right thing?” _Do you still love me?_

 

“Yes, I suppose I do owe you an explanation. Later, i’ll explain it all to you then, when you’re ready. But not quite yet. Soon.”

 

“What do you mean? How am I not ready? It’s been 6,000 years?”

 

“I know, I know. You must have patience though, you will be ready soon. Until then, you should rest, conserve your strengh, as I still have one last task for you to do. I will speak withh you again however, when the time is right.”

 

“What do you mean? What task? What more could I possibly have to do?”

 

“You will understand nearer the time.”

 

“But then what’s the point in this? Why speak now, when I’m not ready?”

 

“I cannot explain why I do what I do, but believe me there is a reason.”

 

“ _There’s always a bloody reason_ ” Crowley mumbles

 

“Yes, there is” She says with a humorous tone “But I am dawdling- I will speak with you again soon Crowley- but until then farewell.”

 

“Oh, bye then” Crowley says, trying not to sound too disappointed. He can tell when she’s gone, as the air seems to lose some of its energy. He gives a little sigh and shifts down the sofa a little, nuzzling his face into Aziraphales hair. His eyelids seem to grow heavy, and he feels warm and safe.

 

“Oh, and Crowley?” She says

 

“Mmm?”

 

“There was no need to worry, I never stopped loving you”

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me happy :)


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